


Unnamable Thoughts and Insomnia

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Cuddles, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Overthinking, Sleepy Cuddles, TK can't sleep, TK freaks himself out, Touch-Starved, act one: TK & Owen, act two: TK/Carlos, and he doesn't know why, but he knows what could help, for sy's needy ass, if he can just ask for it, same problem; two similar solutions, this story takes place in two distinct acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: TK can't sleep, and he doesn't know what he can do about that. He knows what he wants to do, but he doesn't know what he can do.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand
Comments: 50
Kudos: 364
Collections: L O N E  S T A R





	1. Act I, Scene I

**Author's Note:**

> The sleepy TK fic I've been teasing for ages! Look for updates twice a week, probably Tuesday and Friday-ish.

TK rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Again. It’s been the same endless repetition since he laid down three hours ago: back, side, stomach, side, fetal, back, side, starfish, side, and now back again. 

He’s trying to sleep, he _wants_ to sleep, can feel the exhaustion in his body after two long shifts in a row. But he can’t get there, can’t get his mind to give in and let go. 

They’ve been in Austin just long enough that his new bedroom doesn’t feel foreign anymore. The trees outside don’t startle him like they used to, he’s stopped missing the sounds of the city beneath his window. It feels like home. He should be able to fall asleep at home. 

There's nothing in particular on his mind, and even if there had been, he’s worked through the meditation exercises from his therapist half a dozen times. 

He’d counted backwards from 100 by 7s, but only made it as far as 51 before he lost count, too tired and frustrated to start over. 

He sighs, flinging an arm across his eyes and kicking at his blanket until his legs are freed. 

There’s only one thing left he can think of, one person who’s always been able to talk him down when he gets worked up like this. 

He wants his dad. 

Owen would know what to say, exactly how to rub TK’s back, the same pattern of mindless swirls and circles as far back as he can remember, until whatever he’s feeling becomes more manageable, a small enough set of feelings that he can sleep through the night and deal with them in the morning. 

Even when TK can’t put words to the feelings, his dad can always figure out what he needs. 

TK thinks back over countless nights of detoxing, first in high school right after his mom left, and twice more before they moved to Austin after his latest relapse. He remembers Owen sitting with him on the bathroom floor, never blaming him for what he’d done to himself; Owen lying beside him in bed while he shook with sweats, not touching him but not leaving either. 

Sure, they’ve had their fair share of disputes and hard times, but whenever TK has really needed him, Owen’s been there. 

So he heaves his legs over the side of the bed and stretches as he stands up. When he gets out to the hallway, TK can see Owen’s door cracked open, a stream of moonlight coming in from the window. He pads down the hallway, cracking his jaw on a yawn (why can’t he sleep, if he’s tired enough to yawn like that?) and peers in. 

Owen is sprawled across his own mattress, snoring softly with his mouth open. 

TK knows he could wake him up. He knows his dad wouldn’t say anything about it, would sit up in bed and wipe the sleep out of his eyes, listen to whatever TK needed to say, lead him back to his own room and sit on the side of the mattress until he was asleep again. 

They wouldn’t talk about it in the morning, other than Owen asking him if he’s feeling alright now. Owen had promised him that after his first overdose, that they didn’t have to talk about it, but he needed TK to promise that he’d come wake him up instead of doing something he’d regret later. If TK wanted to talk about it, they could, but Owen would never try to force it out of him. 

“I’d rather have you alive than chatty,” he’d said one night, and it might have been a little funny if they weren’t both so stressed, the way TK had rolled his eyes and pointed out that he has to be alive to be chatty. 

But Owen hadn’t asked anything more of him, other than waking him up if TK needs him. 

He can't do it tonight, though. He stands frozen in the doorway, staring at his dad lying there fast asleep, and he can’t get his feet to move forward or his voice to work enough to rouse Owen. 

He’d seen his dad come into work after his treatment today, seen him move a little slower all afternoon. It’s the medicine working, and TK knows that, but he also knows that Owen needs to rest if his body is going to be able to fight off the cancer cells. 

And he won’t be resting if TK wakes him up just because he’s tired but can’t sleep. All that will accomplish is both of them being sleep deprived in the morning. 

So he stares from the doorway for just a second longer, then makes himself turn on his heels and go back to his own bed, resigned to another night of staring at the ceiling. 

He’s not ready for his alarm to go off in the morning, even though he’s been staring at the clock half the night. Muscle memory carries him through his routine, out to the passenger seat of Owen’s truck. 

It's not until they’re halfway to the station that his dad turns to scrutinize him at a red light. 

“You’re quieter than usual, TK. Everything alright?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just a little tired.” He forces a smile. “You? Seemed wiped out yesterday.” 

“Yeah, I was. Feeling a lot stronger today, though.” Owen grins at him. “We’re really starting to kick this thing, I can feel it.” 

“Good. Keep it up.” He throws all the positivity he can muster into his voice, genuinely glad to hear his dad sound so optimistic, but it’s hard for him to get excited when it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open. 

Mercifully, Owen lets the conversation drop until they get to work and TK can throw himself into simple, mundane tasks that will keep him awake until it’s a reasonable hour for a mid-day nap. 

Except that the nap seems to find him first, when he sits down beside Judd on the couch in the common area, watching Paul and Mateo spin the handles on the foosball table. 

He doesn’t even realize that he fell asleep until there’s a large hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. 

“TK, c’mon kid, I look like a pillow to you?” 

He sits up blearily as he realizes that he tipped over to lean against Judd’s arm when he passed out. Judd watches him closely as he blinks, searching for something in his eyes. 

“You alright, brother?” 

“Fine. Just … didn't sleep real well last night. Must’ve been the moon or something.” 

“The moon, sure.” Judd chuckles, then looks back at him more seriously. “Go lay down if you need to. No shame in a guy taking a nap after a rough night.” 

TK rises to his feet as Judd nudges him upright. 

“Yeah …" he trails off, unable to build the rest of his sentence around the haze of exhaustion in his brain. 

“Seriously, go. You know where we’ll be.” 

It’s not quite an invitation for him to vent, but TK feels a little bit better as he stumbles across the station to flop onto his bunk, just knowing that people cared enough to ask about him today. 


	2. Act I, Scene II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TK has a sleepless night at the station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack! TK can't sleep again, but hopefully we all can!  
> xoxo

TK manages to last another month without any more sleepless nights. But just when he’s started to think that they’re behind him, he finds himself lying on his tiny bunk in the fire station, tossing and turning and willing the alarm to go off so at least he’ll have a valid reason to be awake right now. 

Because it’s not like he’s going to get any sleep tonight. 

Buttercup whimpers when he rolls over again, lolling his big eyes up to look at TK. He can’t be sure he’s ever seen a dog look disgruntled before, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. 

“Alright, c’mon, buddy.” TK pushes his blanket down his legs and throws his feet over the side of the bed. The floor is cold enough against his bare skin that it should wake him up instantly. 

If only he weren’t already awake. 

He hears Buttercup jump off the bed behind him, and listens to his toenails click against the floor as he follows TK out to the kitchen. 

TK looks briefly at the espresso machine, longing for just enough energy that he could actually feel like he were all the way conscious. But he knows that’s not the direction he needs to go right now, no matter how badly he wants to. So he makes himself turn toward the stove and reach for the kettle that lives on the counter. 

_Tea might help him sleep, but coffee will_ _definitely keep_ _him awake longer_. 

He flicks the burner on and lets it heat up while he fills the kettle with water. In an effort to keep as quiet as he can, he runs the sink at a low pressure, trying to keep the water from hitting too hard against the bottle of the kettle. Before he sits it on the burner, he opens the spout so it won’t whistle when the water boils. 

The last thing he needs is to wake the whole house up and have to explain that some nights he can't do anything but stare at the ceiling and will himself to get at least a little bit of sleep. 

So he watches the kettle closely, listens for the sound of the rolling water, and pulls it off the heat as soon as the bubbling starts. There’s already a tea bag waiting in his favorite mug, the chamomile blend that tastes like minty grass but might be soothing enough to help him drift off, and he passes a treat down to Buttercup as he’s emptying the last of the kettle into the sink. 

The two of them walk back to the bunk room, TK carefully avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor while Buttercup trots happily behind him. Just when he thinks they’ve managed to return unnoticed, Buttercup jumps up to join him on the bed, collar tags jingling as he stomps around to settle in against TK’s outstretched legs. 

TK grimaces, hoping everyone will sleep through the noise, and relaxes only after a few seconds go by and none of his teammates so much as stir. 

Of course, as soon as he thinks he’s in the clear, he hears Owen roll over in the bed beside his. 

“TK?” He’s still half asleep; TK can tell from the way the letters run together in the low rasp. “Everything OK?” 

_No._

But he can’t begin to find an answer to the inevitable follow-up, doesn’t have an explanation for why everything feels wrong right now except the warmth of the mug in his hands and the solid, furry weight draped across his shins. 

So he lies. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed some water.” It’s not _really_ a lie, he justifies to himself. Medically, there’s nothing wrong with him. And he needed water to make his tea. 

“You sure?” There’s something in Owen’s voice, and for a moment, TK thinks his dad might see through his fib. Owen’s always known him better than anyone else, can usually tell when he’s playing something off, even if he chooses not to push for answers right away. 

Tonight, TK maybe hopes he’ll push a little bit. He’s pretty sure that he’d let his dad help tonight, let him steer him out to the couch, wrap an arm around his shoulders until he felt like he could talk about whatever crosses his mind and wait for the crux of the issue to come tumbling out of his mouth. 

But he doesn't know how to ask for that. And he knows his dad needs to rest. They should all be resting, just in case the alarm goes off. Just because TK can't sleep doesn't mean he should drag anybody down with him. 

“Yeah. It’s alright, Dad. Go back to sleep.” 

He sighs and takes another drink, waiting to see how Owen will react. The blankets shift again, like he’s maybe turning back over, and a couple minutes after that, TK hears him start snoring softly. 

One of his hands comes down to pat Buttercup on top of the head, and the dog nuzzles his thigh with his nose. 

“Just you and me tonight, huh, boy?” 

Buttercup whines, and TK thinks for a moment that he maybe understood what he’d said. Because there’s never been a moment before when he related quite so closely to the station’s mascot, when Buttercup articulated his thoughts so perfectly. 

But then Buttercups heaves out a breath and his eyes slide shut too. 

“Alright, just me then.” 

He finally lays back down when he hears everyone else starting to stir in the morning, feigns waking up alongside them. No one says anything, other than the usual “good morning” and “who’s making breakfast?”, so he’s pretty sure he managed to escape notice. 

But he’s on his way out of the bathroom when his dad catches him by the arm. 

“How you doing?” 

“Good?” He makes himself ask it as a question, forces his eyebrows to knit so he looks confused and hopes Owen will buy it. 

He doesn’t, though, just hold’s TK at arm’s length and looks him up and down for a moment, considering. 

“Alright. Just remember that you can always tell me if you need something. Anytime.” Owen says it with such meaning that TK knows exactly what he’s referring to, and he can’t look his dad in the eye when he hears it. 

Because he knows he needed someone last night, and he knows his dad knows that too, and clearly Owen knows he was lying when he told him to go back to sleep. 

“Yeah …" He trails off, staring past Owen’s shoulder. 

“I can’t be there if you don’t tell me, TK; all you have to do is say the word.” 

He waits a second, but when TK doesn’t respond, squeezes his shoulder and steps over to let him down the hallway. 

TK drags his feet getting to breakfast, still heavy with exhaustion, but his heart is lighter with the reminder that his dad really does want to help him, even when TK doesn’t know if anyone can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be back on Tuesday! Sit tight until then, darlings (except to leave comments and kudos) *mwah*


	3. Act I, Scene III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He still doesn't want to wake Owen up, but this time TK does something constructive about his insomnia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy, look who remembered to post BEFORE work today, instead of at 1 a.m.!

It happens again two weeks later. They’re at home this time, tucked into their beds after a quiet evening of homemade pizzas and catching up on television shows. 

Well, Owen is tucked into bed. Presumably. But TK has rolled and thrashed enough times, trying to find a comfortable position, that there’s no “tuck” left. Just blankets twisted and rumpled around his legs. 

He knows how this is going to end up, has resigned himself to another sleepless night, lying awake and trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. 

Or, he could get up, walk 10 feet down the hallway and get his dad. 

“Anytime,” Owen had said that morning at the station. TK could come wake him up anytime. All he has to do is go into his room and shake him awake. 

He shouldn’t, though. He doesn’t know what he’d say, doesn’t know what’s going on. And his dad had been yawning a lot tonight. He should sleep, not stay up with TK. 

But before he’s even finished having those thoughts, TK is staring at his dad’s bedroom door. It’s pushed closed, but not latched, so he lets himself reach forward and nudge it open slightly. 

Sure enough, Owen is stretched out under the covers, lying fast asleep on his back. His chest rises and falls steadily, and TK feels a little bit better just for seeing him there. He doesn’t think he’d been worried about something having happened to his dad, but it makes no less sense than any other conclusion he’s reached tonight. 

He’s still not sure what’s wrong, but he’s a little less panicky now. If he could just talk himself into getting his dad’s attention, making some sort of noise, or jostling him or something, then he knows Owen would be able to help him feel better. They could talk, or Owen could talk and TK could listen to his voice, or TK could talk and Owen could listen, or they could watch more crappy late-night TV, or whatever. 

But he’d feel better. 

So why can’t he clear the few steps across the room and shake him by the shoulder? 

He doesn't know. He doesn't know, but he can’t convince himself to do that. 

But he needs his dad. 

He sighs, weighing the options and convincing himself to take a couple of small steps into the room. It’s not close enough to reach Owen, and he’s moving quietly enough that it won’t disturb him, but he’s there. He’s closer. 

And he moves like that, tiny step by tiny step, until he finds himself standing next to the mattress. 

He’s so close. He can hear his dad breathing now, that’s how close he is. One more move and he’d be there, shaking him gently, saying something, anything, _Dad I need you._

He can’t do it. But his next move comes as a surprise, even to himself, when he shuffles around to the other side of the bed and folds the covers back carefully. Every movement is slow and precise, trying not to shift the mattress too much as he lays down. 

Maybe his dad won’t notice him. He can lay here for a while, wait for the pounding in his heart to slow down, then be back to his own room in a couple of hours. 

But then Owen shifts, rolling to his side and kicking TK gently in the leg. 

It’s not hard enough to hurt, just barely makes contact, but it’s enough for his dad to stir slightly, prodding with his toes. 

“Mm, TK?” He can hear the confusion in his voice, watches him try to focus barely-open eyes and piece together the situation. “’S everything OK?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” TK rolls over to face his dad, reaches out to steady himself on Owen’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine. Couldn’t sleep, just … needed you nearby.” 

“Alright, that’s alright.” There’s consciousness bleeding back into Owen’s voice as he wakes up a little bit more. “Wanna talk?” 

“Nah,” He’s suddenly embarrassed, a 26-year-old who crawled into his dad’s bed at 3 in the morning, but he can’t convince himself to get up and leave. 

“Need to talk?” 

“Don’t think so. Just didn’t want to be alone.” 

“Sounds good.” It’s not a perfect fit with what TK had said, but it matches the bleariness that’s starting to pull Owen back under. “Need a hug?” 

“I …" TK hesitates for a minute, but he doesn’t know why. It’s his dad, for god’s sake; he and Owen have always been more open with each other than most of his friends were with their dads. “Yeah. Yeah, I could use a hug.” 

“Get over here, then.” He holds an arm up and waits for TK to shift across the mattress and tuck himself beneath it. 

TK brings his own arm over Owen’s back, squeezing gratefully as he relishes in the calm presence his dad has always brought to his life. He can’t remember a time when hugging his dad hasn’t made him feel at least a little bit better, even on his worst days. 

Owen holds him tightly, like he could squeeze all of the stress out of TK’s world like a tube of toothpaste. It’s not that simple, though, so TK finds himself reluctant to let go when Owen loosens his grasp. 

His dad doesn’t push him away, doesn’t make him let go. Deep down, he’d known he wouldn’t, knew Owen would let him hold on as long as he wanted. 

Still, he’s grateful to settle against his dad’s chest, curl into his side. It takes him back close to two decades, to the nights he spent just like this, tucked in next to his dad after a bad dream where Dad went to fight another really big fire and didn’t come home. Back then, they’d let him stay for a while, then slowly eased him back toward his own room. He’d spent nights laying with Owen in his own bed, snuggled in close, then woken up to see his dad in the doorway the next morning. 

Gradually, it had worked. He’d learned to be more independent, heard lots of the adults in his life praise him for not needing to sleep with his parents anymore. 

His dad never said anything like that, though. All he’d ever said was that his job as a parent was to be there if TK needed him. 

After a while, those nights had faded to distant memory. Then TK turned 19 and had his first overdose. And not long after that, his first detox. That time, it was Owen inserting himself into TK’s room, making sure he didn’t try to sneak out or find some stash he hadn’t admitted to having. 

Even after Owen knew TK was committed to his sobriety, even after he’d started going back to sleep in his own bed, there were a couple handfuls of nights when TK would turn up there next to him. 

Owen never said anything, just let TK settle in for the night. Sometimes, he’d tuck himself against the edge of the mattress, like he was trying to hide how much he needed the comfort. But most of the time, even if he started out like that, he’d end up just where he is now by the time they both woke up. 

TK can already feel his mind clearing. He’ll never know how his dad does it, but he’d known it would happen as soon as he laid down. For the night, Owen can shoulder some of the burden, even if neither of them know what it is that he’s carrying. 

His eyes grow heavy as he feels the rise and fall of his dad breathing next to him. Finally, he thinks he might be able to get some sleep tonight. 

And in the morning, true to his promise, Owen won’t bring it up, other than to ask TK how he’s feeling. 

TK doubts he’ll have much to say, but this time, even if he can’t put any other words to it, he knows it’ll be the truth when he simply answers, “better.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes Act I. I'll be back either Friday or next Tuesday with the next update, shifting things around a bit but keeping the same basic premise.


	4. Act II, Scene I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TK has another sleepless night, this time at his boyfriend's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack! As promised, Act II will focus on TK, his insomnia and Carlos. Enjoy!

It only takes three months of dating for TK and Carlos to basically be living together. Sure, they’re still spending a couple of nights every week at Owen’s house, but they’ve only spent a handful of nights in separate beds since they defined their relationship. 

Which meant that it was only a matter of time before TK spent a sleepless night lying in Carlos’ bed. 

He’s hyper-aware of Carlos’ presence next to him, careful not to sigh too loudly or turn over too many times while he tries to get comfortable. The last thing he wants to do is wake Carlos up, have to explain that he doesn’t know why he can’t sleep even though he’s exhausted. 

They’d gone to bed curled around each other, TK’s head resting on Carlos’ chest and his front plastered to his boyfriend’s side. But he’d made himself roll away gently when it occurred to him that his heart was beating hard enough that Carlos could probably feel it through his ribs. The heavy pounding might be enough to disturb him, so TK had eased himself out from underneath Carlos’ arm and scooched across the mattress to put some distance between them. 

Now, the only thing he can think about is how perfectly he fits alongside Carlos, how if he hadn’t moved away, he’d still be tucked against his side. He thinks he might want that feeling back. And he knows that he could move back over, fold himself back into the embrace and settle in until either he falls asleep or the alarm goes off. Carlos probably wouldn’t notice, and even if he did, he’d probably just assume that TK had gotten up to use the bathroom or something. It would be easy for him to get that feeling back, take whatever comfort he can from his boyfriend’s presence. 

But the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it might feel suffocating. Normally he loves the weight of Carlos’ arm draped over him, but it already feels like the whole world is resting on his shoulders, and he doesn’t want to make himself endure more pressure than he already is tonight. 

So he stays where he is, until the idea of laying in bed any longer feels equally unbearable. Then, he slips carefully out from under the blankets, rubs his hands up and down his own biceps in an attempt to find even a modicum of comfort, and pads out to the kitchen. 

It takes him two tries to remember which cabinet the glasses are in, and he counts to 25 in his head while the sink runs in a slow trickle, filling one almost to the top. TK had hoped that counting would give him something to focus on other than the way that every part of his body feels just a little bit off, just slightly _more_ than it should in a way he doesn’t know how to explain. 

Instead, he’d just noticed that even the sound of his own thoughts in his head is a little too loud, a little off from its usual pitch, hardly enough to be noticeable but just enough to prove to him that he doesn’t fit anywhere tonight. Even in his own body. 

He stops counting as he turns the spigot off and leans against the counter. The edge digs into his back, and he notices it a little more than usual, the sharp corner pressing between two of his vertebrae. It’s uncomfortable, so he stands back up and takes the three steps to sink into one of the dining room chairs. 

Better, but still off. He’d known it would be, knows that everything will be until he can get some rest, recalibrate his senses. He sips his water, too cold but also not cold enough, and sighs. 

There’s only so many things he can try, and he’s already worked through the list twice. Short of calling his dad, or sneaking out the front door and driving home like Carlos is some sort of one-night stand, he’s out of ideas. 

And he can’t do that. He can’t leave, can’t make Carlos worry when he wakes up in an empty bed, in an empty house. Calling his dad is an option; he knows Owen would pick up the phone, wouldn’t try to make him talk unless or until he felt like he could. But what if Carlos heard him? What if he got upset that TK woke him up by calling his dad at 4 in the morning, or thought there was something wrong with him for not even being able to sleep until morning? 

So he’s on his own. 

That’s fine, he’ll be fine. He has to learn how to handle himself eventually, right? Maybe he’ll be a little bit tired tomorrow, but it’s nothing he hasn’t worked with before. He’ll be fine. 

With that thought, he drains the last of his glass and stands up to set it gently in the sink. Everything still feels a little bit extra, but he thinks he can handle laying down again. 

Who knows, maybe he’ll even surprise himself and fall asleep. He lets himself hope as he settles back under the covers, can’t keep the automatic smile off of his face when Carlos shifts instinctively toward TK’s presence in his bed. He doesn’t close the space between them, almost always leaves a couple of inches for TK to initiate the contact, even in his sleep, giving him that little bit of control, the opportunity to decide every day where his comfort level is. 

It’s something TK loves, the way Carlos is always so respectful of his boundaries, even when he, himself, can’t tell exactly where they are. He leaves those lines for TK to draw in the sand, as long as he can help Carlos know how to find them. 

But tonight, even that feels too intense. Carlos is so nice to him, nicer than he is to himself a lot of the time, and all he does is keep drawing lines between them? 

So he reaches out slowly and wraps his fingers around Carlos’ forearm, turning to lay on his side. 

It doesn't feel right, but he thinks that maybe it feels a little bit less wrong than everything else has tonight. 

* * *

He’s still lying like that when Carlos wakes up two hours later, just a few minutes before the alarm rings. TK isn’t expecting it when it happens, doesn't have the chance to close his eyes and pretend he hasn’t been awake all night. 

Carlos turns his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he looks at TK. He can feel the panic written across his face, knows Carlos can see it by the way his eyebrows knit together. 

“Morning,” TK whispers, for lack of anything better to say. There’s no hoarseness in his voice, no raspy edges as he wakes up, and he can tell Carlos hears that too. 

“Hey,” Carlos smiles at him, but there’s worry behind his eyes. “Everything OK? You don’t look like you’ve slept.” 

_He knew it._ He knew Carlos would be able to tell, and he knew he’d ask about it. 

It’s sweet, really, how much he cares. But TK can’t stand the look on his face, and besides, he knows how the conversation will go. If he admits that he was up all night, Carlos will ask what’s wrong, and he’ll have to tell him that he doesn’t have the words for that. 

Carlos wouldn’t judge him for it, at least not where TK could see; he knows that. But he doesn’t want to say it out loud, because that would mean admitting to himself that he can’t even hold it together enough to sleep through the night. 

So he looks away from Carlos, breaking eye contact when he turns his head to stare up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, fine. I’ve been awake a bit, but it’s fine.” 

Carlos doesn’t believe him. When TK looks back at him, he looks even more concerned than he had been, and TK immediately regrets having said anything that would put that expression on his face. 

But he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to push for any more information. Instead, he sighs and pulls his arm across his body to rest his hand on top of TK’s where he’s still holding onto him. 

“Alright. Just checking.” 

“I’m a little short on sleep, but it’ll be fine.” TK isn’t sure why he says anything else, not when Carlos is willing to drop it. 

“Long night? Next time I’ll work harder to tire you out before bed.” He grins, raising his eyebrows and pulling a chuckle from TK’s chest that surprises them both. 

“You were great,” he replies honestly. “Just couldn’t settle back down.” 

Carlos’ face goes serious again, and TK kicks himself mentally. 

“You know …" Carlos turns over to lay on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow to stare at TK. “If you need anything, some help … settling down, or whatever, you can always wake me up.” 

He pushes up to his forearms, climbing out of bed and padding across the room to the ensuite, starting his morning and ending the conversation when TK doesn’t reply. 

TK lays there, thinking about what Carlos said. He knows he can wake him up for some stress relief; it’s happened a couple of times when they land a shared day off. They’ll fall asleep tangled up together, wake up a couple hours later and go for another round before actually settling in for bed. 

But he knows sex won’t help. Not when he feels like this. It’ll tire him out, sure, give his limbs the heavy weight of exhaustion that should come with the pull of sleep, but it won’t do anything for his mind. He’d just lay there, strung out and drained, mind racing even faster. 

That’s a problem for another night, though; this one is over and he has to start his day. So he rolls over with a sigh and trails behind Carlos to the bathroom, wrapping his arms around him from behind and leaning against his back 

He’s the most loved he’s ever felt with Carlos, and maybe the safest too, but he knows that he probably won’t wake him up when this happens again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all on Friday! Lemme know what you think!  
> xoxo


	5. Act II, Scene II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sleepless night at the station, but this time TK picks up the phone

TK is back at the station the next time he finds himself unable to fall asleep. He still doesn’t know why, but it’s probably something to do with the sheer number of calls they worked through the course of the evening. 

It's the sort of thing that would tire most people out; sure enough, the rest of the team is fast asleep in their bunks. And TK is exhausted: his limbs are heavy and his eyelids keep drifting closed. But before he can actually find his way to sleep, he gets the urge to flop over again, and the change in position puts him right back where he started: awake, exhausted and restless, somehow all at once. 

He’s made two trips to the bathroom since he laid down an hour and a half ago, hoping that the extra steps will drain whatever last energy reserves are keeping him awake. It was futile though; all he managed to do was convince himself that he needs to hydrate better. 

Buttercup is curled up, as always, at the end of his bed, so he flexes his toes enough to scratch his fur and sighs heavily. 

He wants to get up again, maybe go down to the gym and workout for a while. But his body isn’t in any condition for that, and he’d only manage to hurt himself. Knowing his luck, it would be a bad enough injury that he’d have to wake someone up for medical attention at 2 a.m. And if that happened, there’d be no way for him to pretend that everything is OK. 

Besides, if he gets up, it’ll disturb Buttercup. And he doesn’t want to do that. 

Unless … 

He briefly considers taking Buttercup for a walk, but decides against it. The dog is fast asleep, and his tags would almost certainly make enough noise to disturb the team. 

Maybe he’ll be lucky this time and the alarm will ring. It hadn’t happened last time, but that could mean that the universe owes him one. He doesn’t want any tragedy, never wants to have to respond to the kinds of calls that end with a fatality count in the plurals. But maybe a small kitchen fire, where no one is injured and the damage is easily repaired? Or a medical assist on a minor car accident, the kind of fender bender where they can treat and release everyone at the scene. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping for his reprieve, but he counts to 300 and nothing happens, so he gives up. 

Talking to someone might help, he thinks. His dad in the next bed over, but TK knows he has an early meeting with the chief in the morning, and he’ll need to be well-rested for that. So he’s not an option. 

And the only other person he thinks he might trust enough to help him work through this is Carlos. 

Who’d made it pretty clear that TK could wake him up for sex, but he’d probably be pretty irritated if TK made his phone ring at 2:15 in the morning for small talk until he figured out what he wanted to say. 

So he rolls over again, tries to remember how it feels to sleep next to his boyfriend, held safe and secure in his arms. 

The feeling shouldn’t feel so distant, considering that he’d woken up that way not 18 hours ago, and the last three mornings before that too. But with everything else going through his head, it’s just out of reach, like he can see the warmth and comfort over the horizon that never breaks, never lets him get close enough to touch. 

He wastes another 20 minutes lying there before he decides he can’t stand it anymore. His bed feels too small, the space left around Buttercup insufficient to hold him. The covers are too scratchy and too heavy, the room filling up too quickly with his thoughts. 

So he sighs again, flips the blankets away and stands, rolling his shoulders as he creeps toward the door. He stops in the kitchen, sits for a moment at the table and tries to get his bearings. But the air conditioner vent above him blows too loudly, the cold air hitting his face like tiny icicles. 

He pushes his chair back aggressively enough that he freezes for a moment, hopes no one woke up at the screech of the metal legs against the linoleum. 

When he doesn’t hear any stirring from the bunk room, he stands, lifting the chair up as he puts it back to keep from making another noise and heads for the front door. 

It’s easy to open the door silently, no different than when he’d sneak out of his mom’s apartment in high school. All he has to do is lift up a little bit as he pulls it open, slip out as soon as the gap is wide enough for him to fit through and turn the knob in his hand until the latch is in place, then release it gently. 

The movements come to him without thought, and before he knows it, he’s sitting on top of the picnic table out front of the station. He looks up and around, marveling at how it feels like he can see every star in the sky. It’s been almost a year since he left New York, and the stars still take him by surprise. 

He hopes that feeling never goes away. 

Right now, sitting underneath the seemingly endless sky, he feels small. It’s nice, the reminder that there's so much to the world that isn’t just _him_ , the way that it takes a little bit of the pressure off of his chest. 

He’s got the people who are important to him, and that’s all he needs. He doesn’t need to go after the whole world, just the parts of it that matter to him. 

All of a sudden, the press of his cellphone in his back pocket is the only thing he can focus on. It’s digging into his skin, distracting him from every other thought in his mind. 

So he slides it out, turns the device over in his hands. 

Everything feels a little clearer now than it had when he’d slipped outside; the world is slowing down just enough that the blurry vibration in his vision seems to have stopped. 

He’s feeling a little better, but there’s still one more thing he needs. 

He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to have it, but he thinks he owes it to himself to at least ask. That’s what everyone is always saying, right? It’s OK to ask for the things you need. 

And yeah, maybe Carlos had only said that TK could wake him up for sex. But maybe he’d be OK with being woken up for other things too, even if he hasn’t explicitly said so. 

TK takes a deep breath, trying to find the confidence he needs to unlock his phone. There's no reason this should be as hard as it, but he knows that unlocking the screen is only the easiest part. From there, he has to open up his texts and type out a message. Then he has to send that message, and wait for a reply, and probably stare at the little animated dots that mean someone is typing and … 

He can’t do it. 

He sighs and taps the home button again, running a hand down his face as the app closes. He can’t do this, can’t text Carlos at 3:30 a.m. and hope that he hears the chirping noise in his sleep. 

But he doesn’t think he can do this without Carlos either. 

So he tries again, sliding his thumb across the phone icon and pressing ‘3’ for his speed dial. 

As soon as the phone starts ringing in his ear, he begins to regret making the call. What if Carlos is upset that TK woke him up? What if he really had only meant sex? What if – 

“Reyes.” TK is too stunned at Carlos’ sleep-laden voice coming through the speaker to respond. “Hello?” He can hear the rustling noise as Carlos presumably checks the caller ID. “TK? Aren’t you at work? Is everything OK? TK?” He still hasn’t said anything, and he can hear the worry in Carlos’ voice. 

Even though he has no idea what to say, he knows he needs to say something, if only to keep Carlos from thinking he’s in some sort of trouble. 

“Um … hi?” 

“TK,” His name comes out on the end of a sigh. “Hey, baby. What’s going on?” 

“I’m … I don’t know.” 

“You don’t …" Carlos trails off. “Aren’t you at work?” 

“Y-yeah. We’re all sleeping. Well, uh, everyone else is sleeping. I … couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” TK is listening for any sort of teasing edge in Carlos’ words, any sign that he might think TK is calling for a hookup. But he can’t detect anything other than confusion and concern. 

“I … I don’t know. But I can’t, so I got up and I’m outside, and I remembered that you said I could wake you up if I needed help settling down. This probably isn’t what you meant, and I-I _know_ we can’t hook up on the picnic table outside the station, so that’s not why I’m calling, but I … I can’t settle down, and I didn’t know what else to do, so I –” 

“TK. Take a breath.” He cuts TK off, waiting for him to let the air out of his lungs before he continues. “I’m glad you called, OK? Now, can you try that again? You lost me somewhere.” 

“We … can’t have sex tonight.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and the thought is out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

“Is that why you called?” 

“No. I don’t want to. I-I mean, I do, but like … not tonight. Not … I’m at work, like you said. And I don’t feel like it. But I need you.” 

“OK.” Carlos fills the silence when TK stops talking. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Can you … meet me at the station? Please?” 


	6. Act II, Scene III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos rolls up at the 126 just shy of 4 a.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it, folks! All six chapters! Enjoy the conclusion. *mwah*

Carlos stays on the phone with TK the entire time. He can hear his boyfriend getting dressed, listen to the sound his car keys jingling in the background, focus on Carlos’ narration against the white noise of the engine while he drives. 

“Hang tight, Tiger. I’m almost there. Still awake?” 

“Ha.” There’s no laugh to go with the sound. “You’re cute when you’re facetious.” 

“You’re cute all the time.” TK bites his lip, but his mouth curls into a smile anyway. 

The smile grows a little wider when he sees Carlos’ headlights approaching the station. He briefly considers standing up when the engine dies, but finds that his legs are too heavy to move cooperatively. Carlos ends the phone call as he steps out of the Camaro and walks over to where TK is sitting. 

TK reaches for Carlos’ hands as he stops in front of the bench his feet are on. 

“Hey.” Sitting on the table, he’s just a little bit shorter than Carlos, so he rolls his eyes up to look at him. 

“Hey. Rough shift?” TK can tell that he’s trying to figure out what happened, why TK felt like he had to call Carlos out to the 126 at 3:30 in the morning. 

“Calls were easy.” 

“Yeah?” Carlos drops his hands and climbs up to sit next to him on the table, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to ankle. “Anything else happen?” 

He’s being gentle, handling TK with care. Sometimes it frustrates him, being treated like he’s fragile. But now? Now he feels pretty fragile, and it’s nice to have someone around who recognizes that. 

“I dunno. Can’t sleep.” 

“So you said. Anything hurt?” 

“My head. ‘M tired.” TK tries not to whine, but he’s tired of questions. 

“I’ll bet. You’ve been up since this morning?” When TK nods, Carlos lifts his arm and lets TK tuck himself against his side. Slowly, he turns his body, guiding TK alongside him, so they’re laying longways across the top of the table. 

TK follows the guide, letting Carlos steer him until he can curl up and rest his head on his boyfriend’s chest. He sighs when Carlos starts running his hand up and down TK’s bicep, and reaches for his other hand to tangle their fingers together. 

“How’s this? Now you don’t have to hold yourself up.” 

“Nah, you’ve got me.” 

“I’ve got you,” Carlos agrees, adjusting his grip on TK to be a little tighter. “What’s in your head, TK? Any idea what’s keeping you up?” 

TK shrugs as best as he can without having to sit up. 

“Too many thoughts. None of them are that important.” 

“They must be, if you can’t sleep around them. Want to talk about it?” 

Carlos’ thumb draws slow lines across the back of TK’s hand and he shivers. 

“Don’t even know where I’d start. Do we have to talk?” 

“No.” It’s a simple answer, and Carlos turns his head to kiss TK’s temple. “What can I do for you?” 

“You’re … can-can you talk? I like your voice.” 

“Sure, Tiger. Any particular bedtime story?” 

“I probably won’t sleep tonight.” 

“Hmm.” He presses his lips to the top of TK’s head to hum softly. “Don’t think I know that fairytale. How about I tell you about when I was in academy and tried to wreck my first squad car?” 

TK sniffs, curling closer to Carlos’ chest, chasing the quiet repetition of his heartbeat. He sighs when Carlos starts talking; even if he’s too exhausted to follow the storyline, the cadence of Carlos’ voice along with the steady rise and fall of his chest is comforting. 

It doesn’t take long for TK to feel his eyes growing heavy again. Between Carlos’ hand rubbing up and down his back, the thumb stroking over his knuckles and Carlos’ gentle voice in his ear, he’s still not convinced that he’s going to fall asleep, but maybe he’ll be able to relax enough to get some rest anyway. 

* * *

The next thing TK knows, he’s blinking his eyes open, squinting against the bright sunlight. 

_OK,_ _maybe_ _he did get to sleep a little bit._

He rolls his chin up until he can see that Carlos is still asleep, his mouth hanging open a little bit. 

TK smiles and shifts a little closer to him, content to bask in the warm morning weather and his boyfriend’s embrace. He smiles to himself, realizing that he’s still tired but not in the bone-deep way he had been a few hours earlier. 

He hasn’t been awake long when the front door of the station slams open. He doesn’t sit up, but he cranes his neck to see what’s going on. 

It isn’t the garage door opening, so there’s no call. And they’re not off work until after lunch today, so no one should be going home. 

Then, he hears his dad’s familiar voice shouting in the distance. 

“Judd! His car’s still here, you’re sure you’ve checked the locker room?” 

TK knows he should say something. He can hear the fear in Owen’s voice, and he knows he should sit up, explain himself, and let his dad stop worrying. But he can’t do that without waking Carlos up, and he doesn’t want to do that. Not after Carlos came all the way out here at 3:30 a.m. just because TK called and asked him to. 

He thinks for a moment, then reaches down for his pocket and pulls his phone out carefully. 

Owen still hasn’t turned around to bring the picnic table into his field of vision. But it doesn’t take long for TK to type out a quick text and press ‘send’. 

_Stop shouting, you’ll wake Carlos. Turn around._

He watches his dad look at his phone, and turn slowly to face the table. Owen is just far enough away that TK can’t make out the look on his face, but he can see his mouth open and close a few times. 

The station door creaks open and closed again, and he can hear the muffled sounds of Owen calling something back into the building. Then there’s footsteps on the gravel, getting closer and closer until Owen’s shadow casts across TK’s face. 

“TK? What are you doing?” There’s still concern in his voice, and his brow is furrowed in confusion. 

“Shh, I don’t want to wake him up.” It’s not an answer, but he can feel Carlos stir next to him. 

“Why is he here?” Owen grimaces and tries again. “Not that I don’t like Carlos, but why are the two of you lying on the picnic table at 9 a.m.?” 

“He came over. I called him.” 

“You know the policy about sex at the station, TK.” Owen sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“No! We didn't … no! I couldn’t sleep; my head was being weird. So I came out to look at the stars, and I called Carlos.” 

Almost as if he’d heard his name, Carlos chooses this moment to wake up, turning his head to bury his face in TK’s hair. 

“Hey, Tiger.” 

“Morning.” TK smiles and squeezes Carlos’ fingers in his own. “Say hi to my dad?” 

Carlos’ eyes fly open at that, and he drops TK’s hand to lean up on one elbow and look at the fire captain. 

“Mr. … Captain Strand. Good morning!” TK can’t help laughing as he looks between them, sees the blush climbing up Carlos’ face and the knowing smile coming from his father. 

“Carlos. We’ll have breakfast up in a few minutes, if you’d care to join us.” Carlos gapes for a moment, but he doesn’t respond, and Owen turns back toward the station. 

“Hey,” TK waits for him to be out of earshot before he sits up and looks down to Carlos. “Sorry about that; I didn’t know we’d be out here that long.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Your dad is the first person I want to see every morning.” When TK laughs, Carlos reaches up and pulls him in for a short kiss. “Did you get to sleep?” 

“Yeah, I … I did.” TK smiles. “Believe it or not. Think you have some sort of magical powers or something.” 

Carlos tugs TK down to lay on top of him, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“Well, my magic powers are yours any time you need them.” He kisses TK’s forehead, then sits up, still holding him close. “I’ve just got one request for next time, then we’ll go eat with everyone else?” 

“Hmm?” TK sighs against Carlos’ shoulder; in the light of day, fresh from sleep, he knows there’s no reason to be worried about whatever Carlos might be getting ready to ask. 

“Next time you call me at 3 in the morning, can we lay in an actual bed? Picnic tables are not built for my back.” 

TK laughs as he slides off of Carlos’ lap and leads him by the hand back toward the station. 

“I’ll talk to my boss, see what he says. Lucky for you, he thinks we make a cute couple.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Bathroom is around the corner, elevator through the doorway to the red exit sign. Let me know if there's anything I can do to improve your stay, I'm here all night!

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who knows me knows that I live on lemonade and validation, so let me know what you think!


End file.
